


No. And, in fact, there never was.

by andchimeras, azurejay (andchimeras)



Category: Fall Out Boy
Genre: Collars, Community: kink_bingo, Established Relationship, Gen, Kink Negotiation, M/M, Negotiations
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-05-13
Updated: 2011-05-13
Packaged: 2017-10-19 09:06:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,046
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/199190
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/andchimeras/pseuds/andchimeras, https://archiveofourown.org/users/andchimeras/pseuds/azurejay
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"It comes up because they're fantasy shopping on some website--loading up shopping carts full of hoods and cuffs and chastity belts and thousand-dollar aircraft aluminum cages."</p>
            </blockquote>





	No. And, in fact, there never was.

**Author's Note:**

> Content Notes: Discussion of negotiated power exchange and collaring; non-explicit references to other kink activities.
> 
> Notes: For the "collars" square on my [card](http://azurejay.dreamwidth.org/210234.html). Thanks to Estrellada for talking this out with me a bit, and lalejandra for betaing. Lastly, this branches from an as-yet-unfinished Pete POV story colloquially known as [leatherdaddy!Patrick](http://azurejay.dreamwidth.org/151442.html). You don't need to be familiar with the "source text" to understand this ficlet, however.

It comes up because they're fantasy shopping on some website--loading up shopping carts full of hoods and cuffs and chastity belts and thousand-dollar aircraft aluminum cages--and Patrick hits the link without thinking, because it's the next one down, and Josh goes still beside him.

The first image on the page is of a wide black leather collar, with a vertical D-ring on the front and a locking buckle in the back. Patrick can feel the stiff warmth of the leather and the smooth, slightly greasy metal of the padlock between his fingers.

"Patrick?" Josh asks. His voice is as even and carefree as ever, but his hands are linking across his lap and his knuckles are white.

"Josh," Patrick replies, blinking at the page as he scrolls down. Various widths and colours of leather, various types of closures, and then the metal locking collars--the stainless steel cables that can only be opened with a special key, and the seamless rings that can be soldered around someone's neck.

Patrick clicks on a utilitarian half-inch chain that can be closed with a lobster claw or a lock, and they both stare at the product description for a few minutes. It's only twenty dollars. They could probably pick one up at the mall on their next stop. It wouldn't look out of place on a roadie on a rock tour. It would tuck neatly under Josh's shirt, peeking at Patrick from the back of his neck all day, or hang innocuously among Josh's tour and venue laminates and the ring of keys he keeps on a parachute cord.

Nobody would know what it was, or what it meant, but Patrick would be able to see it and see Josh standing at attention, bent over the table in Patrick's bus, on his knees in the shower stall in the bedroom at the back of the bus. Patrick might reach up and touch it at some point during the day, maybe during sound check or in the line for catering, just to see the look on Josh's face. Just to touch and know: this is mine.

And when the tour is over, Patrick would take the collar off Josh and give it to him to keep, because that's how Patrick was taught, and Josh would go back to school in Florida, and Patrick would go back to work in LA, because that's what they agreed. That's what Patrick wants, and what Josh keeps saying he wants.

Patrick was also taught that you don't collar your first boy.

He hits the back button and moves on to impact toys, clicking a subcategory at random. Josh relaxes slightly, but he's still leaning forward on his knees beside the bus couch where Patrick is sitting. His hands disentangle, but his fingers press nervously against his thighs.

"Sir," Josh says.

Patrick swallows and hits the back button again, not even aware of what he was looking at. "Yes, Joshua."

"I would wear a collar for you," Josh says, not quite hesitantly. His ability to say what other people would let die in uncomfortable, anticipatory silence is one of the reasons Patrick will miss him--one of the reasons Patrick flipped up the corner of the dark green bandana in his right back pocket one day during the first week of tour.

"I know," Patrick says. He takes a deep breath and says, without looking at Josh, "I don't think it's a good idea."

"But you want me to," Josh says, and Patrick pins him with a look.

"I said it's not a good idea."

"Yes, sir," Josh says, meeting his eyes, face tight. "With respect, that's not the same thing."

"We have an agreement, Joshua," Patrick says, struggling to keep his voice even. He wants to get up and walk away, or snap at Josh to shut the fuck up, but this--what he's doing with Josh--is as much about controlling himself as it is about sharing control over someone else.

"We can re-negotiate," Josh says.

"Do you want me to collar you?" Patrick asks.

"Do you want to collar me?" Josh counters.

"Answer the goddamn question, Joshua," Patrick says sharply.

"I said I would wear a collar for you," Josh says, looking away, down, still avoiding answering.

"Well, Joshua, 'with respect'," Patrick says, making air quotes, and Josh's mouth crooks in a tiny smile, "that's not the same thing. And I'm not putting a collar on you and saying it's just a collar, because that doesn't work for me: collars aren't 'just collars' for me. I don't actually give a shit if you want to wear just a collar, I'm not putting one on you, especially if what you really, honestly fucking _want_ is _my_ collar. You know what I'm saying?"

The tiny smile is gone and Josh nods, spreading his hands palm-up over his knees. Patrick's mouth tightens and he closes his eyes for a moment.

"You're awesome," he hears himself say. "I'm really, just, like--I can't even imagine what I did to have your service. But I can't do this long-distance, and if I'm moving again, it's back to Chicago, and your school is more important than making me coffee, and--I'm sorry, maybe I shouldn't have--"

Josh's hand grips his knee and he opens his eyes. Josh shakes his head and smiles a little again. "Don't apologize for hitting on me, dude, seriously. I don't think I've ever enjoyed being a roadie this much." Patrick huffs out a laugh. "And thank you, sir. You're pretty cool too."

Patrick laughs outright at that, and rubs his hand over Josh's curly hair. Josh closes the laptop on the little coffee table and moves closer, leaning against Patrick's legs.

Josh's voice is almost as even and carefree as it usually is when he asks, "May I do your boots today, sir?" Patrick settles his hand on the back of Josh's neck, and thinks of how their bodies fit together like pieces of a puzzle, like interlocking stones. He thinks about the warmth of Josh's skin, and the kinds of marks he _can_ give.

"No," he says, fitting his thumb behind Josh's ear. "I think I'm ready to do that cutting we've been talking about. But thanks for offering."

 

End.


End file.
